


(Stiles, You Are Not That) Smooth

by dorlgirl



Series: Smooth [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, the author is not as funny as they think they are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 00:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17436137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorlgirl/pseuds/dorlgirl
Summary: A chance meeting leads to an impromptu first kinda-date.





	(Stiles, You Are Not That) Smooth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morgainehp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgainehp/gifts).



> I started this seven or so years ago. It has ebbed and flowed and I've written in fits and starts. Now that Beck Rogers is blessedly done, I figured I'd ride the wave and see if I can finish this one too. Like Freddie said, fly the moon and reach for the stars, right?
> 
> Dedicated to my PLM. Thanks for all your enthusiasm over the years, bb!

By most cultural and social standards, Derek should love his life. At the tender age of twenty-seven, he was independent, owned his own not-really-modest home in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Menlo Park, drove a beautifully impractical muscle car that sucked too much gas, and had zero debt.

As if that wasn’t enough, Derek had just been promoted to Principal at McCall Ventures, one of the leading venture capital and private equity firms in the Bay Area. It was something of a coup, considering most of his friends from college still complained that they were drowning in student loans and would remain so for at least the next decade. Secularly, most of them were either still bottom-rung associates, or, if they finagled their way into a start-up that was desperate to fill ranks, _might_ be lucky enough to claim the title of Vice President. It left Derek in a bit of a social dead space: his management-level contemporaries at work were in their mid-to-late-thirties with growing families. He was closer in age to the associates, but his career was taking off and some of them declined to be subtle about their feelings on his rapid rise through the ranks while they languished in junior positions.

It didn’t matter to them that Derek had worked his ass off to get this far in such a short amount of time. Doing an accelerated MBA had been hell (he was still convinced his marketing professor was a vengeful creature from the netherworld), but it had jumpstarted his career and he was on the fast track now. During his performance review last week, his boss had even said the advisement committee was watching him and if he kept up his deal flow and high closing rate, he could be promoted to General Partner within a few more years. Derek had been walking around in a daze the rest of that day, much to everyone’s amusement. He couldn’t help it if he walked into his door a few times. He usually left it open, it shouldn’t have been in his way to begin with.

So yeah. Despite an inanimate object or two out to get him, things were going amazingly, unbelievably well for Derek. Really. He definitely was ahead of the game.

Except something was missing. Namely, meaningful social contact. The only person he had conversations of any length with was Erica, the executive assistant he shared with the VP and two associates in his sector. Even then, all they really had time to talk about was if his meetings had arrived or changes needed to be made to travel arrangements. Occasionally she’d sit down in his office to go over roadshow and conference schedules with him, but even then they usually didn’t have time for more than shop talk before she had to run back to her cubicle to handle whatever crisis the rest of the team threw at her.

With his sister living in New York, and his uncle in that nudist colony down south, he didn’t have any family nearby that he can easily connect with. Or, to be more accurate, none that he _wanted_ to connect with. Derek still shudders at the memory of the one time he drove down to Corona to visit Peter. That was a side (all of them) of his uncle he **never** needed to see. And sure, he and Laura emailed each other daily and talked on the phone at least once a week, but it wasn’t the same.

Derek hesitated to count the Ragdoll he’d adopted as real company. He refused admit out loud that he may have had several long and heartfelt – on his end at least – conversations with Laird McKeever (shut up Laura, that was the name the cat came with). Unfortunately, the fluff ball was about as close as he got to talking with any sentient being outside of the office. The problem on days like this, where everything that could possibly go wrong did, in fact, go wrong, was that he needed something more than a few sympathetic meows and a sandpapery tongue grooming his arm hair.

A knock on his doorframe brought Derek’s head up and he watched the first year analysts under his purview crowd into his office in a cluster of fratboy-ish enthusiasm.

“Derek! Come get a few beers with us. We deserve it.”

Derek hid a grimace. “Thanks for the invite, Matt, but I’ll have to take a rain check. The financial projections for Project Wolf have to be reconciled, and I need to summarize the board packets Rafael brought back for Monday’s update meeting.”

Derek smiled and waved, wishing them a good night as they made their way out of his office and to the stairwell, voices conversely rising the further they got. He slouched, glad he had a legitimate excuse to blow them off. He felt no desire to spend more time with them than he already had to. All they were going to do is get wasted and bitch about how the legal department fucked up on the non-disclosure agreement (they hadn’t), and how the bankers screwed them over on the standstill provisions (they didn’t), and how the target company wasn’t all that great to begin with (it really, _really_ was that great). And chances were, they really only invited him along in hopes that he, as the head of their sector, would foot the bill. Derek snorted. It never ceased to amaze him. These kids made double what most people their age did and they still spent more time devising ways of getting the company to pay for their shit than they did on research and analysis.

They were right about one thing. It **had** been a hell of a day, one in which the only appropriate ending would be finding out how much alcohol it took to make his brain wave a white flag and shut down for a while. McCall had been courting Morell Securities for the last eight months and, just a few short hours ago, their counsel had delivered a very firm (and not terribly politely worded) rejection notice, stating that management had decided to partner with Deucalion Enterprises, McCall’s main competitor. The company frankly just wasn’t interested in partnering with their firm, and made sure to stall the deal at term sheet submissions, presumably while Deucalion was signing an exclusivity agreement with Morell. It didn’t help that the partner heading Derek’s sector had been pushing for a deal that was ridiculously favorable to McCall’s and left Morell little recourse but to bend over and grab her ankles. Metaphorically speaking. At least he hoped so. Seriously, what made the higher ups think McCall needed two board seats? The company had only five board members total and provisions to open additional seats were verboten in the term sheet Harris pushed. There was a time and place to be unreasonable, and this wasn’t it.

Come to think of it, Derek wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Harris be reasonable about anything. Even the temperature of his coffee, or how loud his assistant’s high heels were on the tiles in the kitchen seemed cause enough to get him started on one of his acidic rants. The man had some serious issues.

Derek rubbed his face, trying to force himself to focus on the spreadsheets covering his desk. Brooding over the lost deal wasn’t going to get him anywhere, and thinking about Harris made his head throb. A knock on his door brought his head up.

“You ok, boss?” Erica poked her head in and after a moment’s study, gave him a sympathetic look. He must look more haggard than he felt.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You heading home for the day?”

“You betcha. Got a hot date tonight with a pint of froyo and my DVR.” She tilted her head in consideration. “You need me to stay? I drove today, so I don’t have to worry about catching the train.”

“No, get out of here. The shitstorm this afternoon did a number on you, too.” Derek smiled. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with Harris yelling at you just because I wasn’t able to take his call. I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow.”

Erica rolled her eyes. “Don’t even worry about it. He’s always like that. He’ll be over it by tomorrow and won’t remember verbally abusing either of us. Hey, try to get out of here soon, yeah? Don’t think I don’t know you’re usually here until past nine.” She gave him a stern look and pointed a finger at him before giving him a wide smile and chirping a quick goodnight as she closed his door.

He stared at his computer screen for a few minutes, utterly unable to drum up enough energy to answer any more emails or work on deal memos due in two days. Fuck it. He needed a drink. Derek briefly considered conveniently forgetting the promise he’d made to Laura about not drinking alone at home. Knowing his sister though, she would find out somehow. He sometimes wondered if she’d installed hidden cameras in his study and kitchen. She knew things. Things he was really sure he’d never told her. It was creepy. But given that he really didn’t want to have to listen to a lecture about how he needs to keep himself socialized and the dangers of functional alcoholism, it really wasn’t worth it.

He’d have to hit a bar. His group would be at the English pub behind their office, so that was out. Too bad, a pint of Murphy’s stout would have hit the spot. Especially if it was chased by a shot of Laphroaig. The wine bar next door was pretentious at the best of times, and downright painful at the worst, so that was also a no-go. Derek sighed.

“Sports bar it is.”

He shuddered slightly. The Old Pigskin wasn’t his favorite place by a long shot. It was crowded, stupidly loud, and had far too many students excelling in their chosen major of slow death by alcohol poisoning. But it was the only option close by if he didn’t want to hit up any of the restaurants or lounges in Palo Alto. Going to one of those on his own, alone, was akin to holding up a sign saying, “FINANCIALLY WELL OFF SINGLE PROFESSIONAL LOOKING FOR ONE NIGHT STAND WITH DESPERATE FEMALE,” in neon letters.

Derek cringed, remembering the last time he’d tried that. He was sure there were going to be claw marks left on his arm from trying to shake off one of the more aggressive women he’d encountered at ‘Nawlins. Just because it was a Big Easy themed bar and restaurant did not mean it was _actually_ Mardi Gras. She hadn’t liked the way he politely declined to take off his shirt for a string of cheap plastic beads and Derek had learned a valuable lesson about women in downtown after work: don’t let them within arm’s reach when alone. At least the recounting of his harrowing ordeal had made Laura laugh until she cried.

He sighed and shut down his work station, tucked his laptop safely into his messenger bag, along with the memos and board reports he needed to review. He could always read them later that night. Insomnia sucked, but at least he got a lot of work done at two in the morning. After shutting off the lights in his office, Derek walked down the hall, pretending to focus on his phone so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge any lingering co-workers. He hurried down the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief once he pushed through the heavy glass door of the lobby and got outside.

Derek paused on the sidewalk, waiting for a break in the slowly moving parade of cars circling the block in desperate hope for a parking space, then hurried across the street to the bar. The floor-to-ceiling windows were open onto the street, letting the autumn breeze in to cool down the packed room. He’d forgotten that football season had officially started and appeared to be broadcast on the banks of televisions lining the walls. He winced at the volume of the crowd and stood outside debating for a minute. On one hand, he really wanted a drink. On the other, it was kind of a madhouse in there. Derek sighed. Decompressing with a pint definitely won out today.

He walked in through the open door and maneuvered through the crowd to the bar, thanking the gods of booze and revelry that there was a free seat at the very end. At least he could make a quick escape if the noise got to be too much for him to deal with. He dropped onto the stool, tucked his laptop bag between his feet and leaned forward to get the bartender’s attention. The petite redhead mixing cocktails nodded at him before turning to call out to the other bartender sharing drink duties with her.

“Stiles! Far left.”

Derek watched a tall guy with pale skin and short brown hair styled in what he could only describe as spiky chaos turn towards her with a grin and gave a light tug on her braid as he walked behind her.

“Of course, my strawberry blonde goddess.”

“Shut up, and get his order.”

It would have been rude if she wasn’t smiling fondly at the guy. Derek watched as ‘Stiles’ did a little dance step on his way over, before jumping into place in front of Derek.

“What can I get for ya?”

Derek blinked, thrown for a moment by the sheer energy the guy displayed.

“Dude?”

He shook his head slightly. “Sorry. Guinness draught. Please.”

“Comin’ up.”

Stiles skipped, actually _skipped_ , over to the taps. Derek swallowed when the kid bent down to grab a pint from under the counter. Were those jeans painted on? He was starting to be glad he decided to stop in here tonight. He was also relieved that employees had to be twenty-one and over to work in a bar. At least he wasn’t skeeving on barely legals, right?

Stiles bounced back over, slapped a coaster down, and plonked Derek’s pint of dark, bitter, and delicious in front of him, miraculously not spilling a drop of liquid during the energetic voyage to Derek.

“You wanna look at the bar menu?”

Derek shook his head, already reaching for the pint and downing a good third of it in one go.

Stiles whistled and leaned his elbows on the bar. “Rough day, man?”

Derek set his drink down and breathed deep, feeling a layer of tension ease away from his neck and shoulders. “It’s getting better by the second.”

He smiled when Stiles laughed and rapped his knuckles on the wood separating them before moving off to fill another order. Derek’s eyes followed Stiles as he danced around behind the bar, chatting with customers and filling orders and flirting with his co-worker.

An hour or so and an unknown yet undoubtedly unhealthy amount of peanuts later, he was relaxed enough after his third draught to not look away when Stiles would look over at him. He even kept the smile on his face after the fourth time he’d been caught staring. Though, judging from the light flush that spread over the bartender’s cheeks, his smile may have dropped from friendly to appreciative.

“Lyds! Light of my life. Apple of my eye. My moon and my stars.”

“Yes, Stiles, you can take your break. Boyd can help me out back here.”

“I love you. You’re my favorite sister from a ‘nother mother.”

Lydia laughed, reaching up to kiss Stiles’ cheek before swatting his arm with a towel. “Go. Be back in thirty minutes.”

Derek couldn’t help the little pang of disappointment as he watched Stiles disappear into the back. ‘Time to head home,’ he thought as he tipped the remaining inch of his beer back, then dug into his pocket. He lifted a finger and ‘Lyds’ swayed over. How did she manage to not only walk, but work all night in four inch heels was beyond Derek, but he had to respect her fortitude.

“Another?”

“No, thank you. Just closing out my tab.” Derek wasn’t sure he liked the assessing stare she gave him. “Yeah, so…have a good night. No change. Thanks again.” He dropped a fifty on the bar and winced when she looked down at it. Whoever this woman was, she had perfect control. He’d never seen an eyebrow climb that slowly.

“I see,” she murmured as she rested her hand over the bill.

She looked up at him again and Derek had to fight to not squirm at how intently she was dissecting everything about him. He was suddenly struck with a desire to tame his likely ruffled hair and fix his non-existent tie. He didn’t like the feeling that he was being judged and found lacking. The scrutiny really wasn't doing much to improve his rapidly declining mood. Definitely time to leave.

He gave Lyds a small, sickly smile and bent down to grab the strap of his bag, nearly hitting his head on the underside of the bar when a voice sounded in his ear.

“You’re not leaving already, are you?”

Derek quickly straightened up, thankfully without injury. “Excuse me?” He asked as he turned toward the voice. His breath caught when he saw how close Stiles was standing to him.

“I just started my break. Are you taking off?” Stiles looked expectantly at him, making Derek flush a bit under the glow of alcohol already spread across his nose and cheeks.

“I…was going to head home actually.”

Derek eyed Stiles, wondering what was going on. He glanced back at the girl, only to find she was across the bar, chatting with a dark-skinned guy who looked more like a bodyguard than a bartender. He saw them both look over at him and quickly focused back to Stiles with a confused expression. His brow furrowed further when Stiles grinned suddenly at him.

“Why don’t you come to Green’s with me instead. You’ve been drinking on an empty stomach for two hours now, and their pulled pork sammies are awesome.”

“Uh…”

Stiles’ smile turned challenging and he took a step back, tilting his head toward the door. “C’mon. They’re closing soon, and I still need to get dinner. Besides, it’s too loud in here to properly introduce myself.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up. Well, then. “Sure. That sounds good.”

He swore his heart skipped a beat when Stiles gave him a sly smirk before turning around and disappearing out the door. He slung his bag over his shoulder and refused to look back at Lyds and the bodyguard as he strode out the door.

Stiles was waiting for him just out side, head tipped back and his eyes closed. Derek swallowed hard at the long curve of his neck on display and forced his hands to stay at his sides. Caressing the throats of strangers without their consent was considered a bad touch. Especially if he started to nibble at the strong line of tendons along the side. No. Bad, Derek. No touching.

He hoped his half hard cock wasn’t as noticeable to anyone as he suspected it maybe (probably) was. And really, when Stiles opened his eyes and looked at Derek over his shoulder like that? Not helping the situation. At all. Derek schooled his features into a bland expression and started walking to the corner, leaving Stiles to catch up with him.

They stood side by side, waiting for the light to turn and, while Derek couldn’t qualify the silence as uncomfortable, he couldn’t say it was comfortable either. He glanced over at Stiles and his ears turned pink when he realized Stiles was staring at him. Stiles laughed quietly and stepped off the sidewalk as the walk signal switched on, leaving Derek to hurry after him.

Okay, so maybe his bland expression looked more like constipation. It was still better than outright lust, right?

Stiles looked at him once Derek caught up. “I’m Stiles Stilinski. Guessing you probably know that already, considering how often Lydia shouts at me while we’re working.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Your name really is Stiles?”

“Might as well be. _I_ can’t even pronounce my real name so why make anyone else try to?”

Derek…wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he settled for pushing his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Derek Hale.”

Stiles stared at Derek for a few seconds. “Wow, you’re so talkative. How will I possibly get a word in edgewise,” Stiles drawled.

They didn’t say anything for the remaining half minute walk, but Derek wasn’t bothered by it this time, especially since Stiles kept looking at him over his shoulder every few steps. Derek smirked at him and shook his head, reaching out to grab Stiles by the elbow.

“You might want to open the door before trying to walk though it.”

He bit down a snort of laughter when Stiles finally faced forward and jumped slightly, apparently not realizing how close to a bruised nose (and ego) he had come.

“Wow, jeeze, okay, haven’t done that since high school.” Stiles scratched at his jaw and gave Derek a pirate’s grin. “Guess I had something better to pay attention to than where I was going.”

Derek gave him a bland look, which seemed to be the facial equivalent of throwing a gauntlet down. Stiles stood up straighter and narrowed his eyes.

“Really?” Derek pushed his hands back into his pockets and settled back on his heels, relaxed and confident for the first time that night. “That’s your idea of a smooth line?”

“Please. I will have you know that I am smoother than Clooney.” Stiles ran a thumb down his chin. “Smoother than Pitt. Smoother than the original Rat Pack combined.” He leaned into Derek’s personal space, daring him to step back. “I’m smoother than the Old Spice Guy.”

Derek’s eyebrows climbed half way up his forehead in disbelief. He was also absurdly proud of himself that he didn’t retreat from Stiles’ proximity.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Stiles leaned back and tugged on the lapels of his jacket and sniffed before winking at Derek and pulling the door open. He stood to the side and bowed at the waist. “After you, good sir.”

Unsure if he should laugh or beat a hasty retreat, Derek muttered an incredulous ‘Oh my God’, much to Stiles’ delight if the cackle that followed them into the restaurant was anything to judge by.

****

“No, I don’t think you understand, dropping young Anakin into the end of Return of the Jedi cheapened the entire franchise!”

Derek put on his fake-serious face. “No, it brought a cohesiveness that the series had been decidedly lacking. By pulling recognizable faces into the older movies, it gave it an intimacy that wasn’t previously tangible.”

“Oh my **God** , I can’t be seen sitting here with you,” Stiles laughed and threw his balled up napkin at Derek’s head. “Heathen.”

Derek finally broke and smirked at Stiles. “You should have seen your face. I think the only thing that could have made you look more scandalized was if I had said introducing Jar Jar Binks was the best decision Lucas had made.” They both shuddered in mock horror. “Seriously though, you can’t deny that the updated effects were good.”

“Sure they were, but they didn’t bring any added value to the films. It was just an excuse to get people to buy the series again. George Lucas is the only man who can make the same thing twenty different times and still get people to pay for it.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Oh?”

“Two words: Resident Evil.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“That’s not a denial.”

“Dude, have you _seen_ Mila Jovovich?”

“I’m not saying they’re bad, I’m just saying it’s pretty much the same movie made six different times.”

“Possibly seven. Rumor has it they want to reboot the franchise.”

Derek covered his face with his hand. “No.”

“Oh yeah. And guess who’s going to be in line to see it opening weekend.”

Derek smirked and shifted forward to lean his elbows on the table. “And guess who’ll probably be right behind you.”

Stiles’ eyes widened slightly before he chuckled and looked down at his empty plate. His head shot up suddenly and Derek sat back quickly, wondering if he’d misread the situation, over-stepped some boundary between friendly banter and flirtation. Stiles seemed to be looking for the exit, and Derek wasn’t always the best judge of situations like this.

“Shit! What time is it?” Stiles dug into his pocket for his phone. “Fucking fuckity fuckbuckets, I’m late! Waaaaay late. Fuck.” He quickly stood and scrambled to get his jacket on.

Derek’s stomach stopped its downward plummet, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief before pushing back from the table and gathering his laptop bag and coat. He tried to get the image of Stiles hopping around in bunny ears and a fluffy tail, twirling a pocket watch and singing, "I'm late, I'm late for a very important date," out of his head, but knew it was going to stick with him for a while. He was slightly concerned when the mental image took a left turn and morphed into a strip tease, complete with Stiles in a red waistcoat, black bow tie and shiny blue booty shorts. There were certain things that his libido should not touch, and all things Disney were in that category.

Stiles finally located his phone and the mild panic was quickly morphing into what Derek could only describe as hysterical terror. “Oh yeah. By about twenty minutes. Shit. Lydia is gonna kill me.”

Derek gently took his elbow and started pulling Stiles toward the door. “It was my fault. I’m sorry, I usually have a better sense of the time."

Stiles stopped their forward momentum and looked down at Derek’s hand on his arm, then slowly tracked his gaze up his forearm and seemed to linger for a moment on the corded muscles there. Derek thought Stiles shook his head minutely before snapping his eyes up to Derek’s. He couldn’t gauge Stiles’ expression and loosened his fingers, suddenly realizing they were standing in the middle of the restaurant staring at each other. He coughed to cover his blush and adjusted his glasses on his nose.

“So. Blame me. In fact, I could come with, to explain to Lydia if…” He let the offer trail off, hoping Stiles would take him up on it. Hell, he’d go back to the bar and drink until closing if it meant he could spend the time with Stiles.

The intensity of that desire gave him pause. Why was he so interested, so determined to spend more time with some guy he just met? Derek frowned slightly. No, ‘some guy’ wasn’t right. Stiles deserved more than that kind of generalization. Which brought up a whole host of other problems, none of which Derek had any interest in examining closely any time soon.

Derek came back to himself to find Stiles smirking at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said no, it’s ok. If it was going to be a big problem, she’d have called me. Besides, don't you have work in the morning?"That pirate grin came back, all teeth and curling lips. The arrogant little shit. "I wouldn't want to keep you up past your bedtime."

There was no misjudging Stiles intent this time. Derek gave Stiles what Laura had teasingly described as his Big Bad Wolf grin (she even made sure to stress the capitalization to him because his sister was insane like that) and pushed a bit into Stiles' personal space. "I could be persuaded to give up a bit of my beauty sleep. Maybe something else too. But only if you made it worth my while."

Derek let his eyes drift nearly closed, studying the rising flush on Stiles' cheeks with satisfaction. It was good to know his instincts weren't completely ass-backwards.

A slow, dirty-flirty smile answered his challenge. Stiles leaned forward and tilted his head, lips whispering at the very edge of Derek's ear. “Trust me, Derek, it would be," Stiles murmured, his breath stirring a rising heat in Derek's everything.

His half-formed thought of closing that last inch between them, maybe brushing Stiles' cheek with the tip of his nose or hell, maybe the plump curve of his lips with his tongue, was rudely interrupted when a tug on his trousers distracted him. His mouth dropped open in shock at the feeling of strong, nimble fingers dipping into the right front pocket and a dozen scenarios flashed through his mind as to why, exactly, Stiles would put his hand in Derek's trousers. He pulled in a shaky breath only to lose it on a sharp exhale when Stiles twisted his hand around to cup his thigh though the thin silk lining of his pocket.

Derek knew he was starting to pant but couldn't really do much about it, especially not with Stiles fingers slowly curling together like that, sparking Derek's already hypersensitive nerves and sending his rather vivid fantasies into corners of his mind he wasn't even aware he had. His hand shot up, gripping Stiles bicep. He wanted to trace his fingers up to Stiles' neck, grip it tight and pull him in for a filthy wet kiss, bite those mobile lips until they opened up for him, make Stiles moan and beg and...and he was really, **really** glad the restaurant was pretty much empty, otherwise he was pretty sure someone would have called the cops on them for indecent acts in public.

Before he could actually follow through on any of the fantasies crowding his mind, Stiles abruptly pulled his hand back and looked down.

At Derek's phone.

Wait, how did...oh.

The hand still gripping Stiles' arm trembled slightly as Derek tried to calm down, even though parts of him were completely uninterested in the concept of 'down'. Unless it involved Stiles' mouth. Or cock. And one of them on their knees. Didn’t matter who. Derek was flexible like that.

"There." Stiles pushed the phone back into Derek's pocket, sadly without anymore caressing or rubbing or other fun things. "Text me. Or call, whichever you want." He darted close again, so close that Derek could taste the lemonade on his breath. "And Derek?"

Derek's throat clicked on a dry swallow. "Yeah?"

Honey – whiskey? – what color IS that, anyway? - eyes laughed at him. "You should really passcode lock your phone."

Stiles stepped back and gave Derek a cheeky wink before he turned and swaggered to the door.

“By the way, I’m under the O’s,” he called over his shoulder.

“You’re…I thought your name was Stilinski?” Derek called out. Stiles only laughed and lifted a hand in a wave as the door closed behind him.

"Goddammit." Derek laughed, loud and sharp. He couldn't wait to call Stiles.

****

As soon as Stiles cleared the door to Green’s, he broke into a run, his smugness over the look on Derek’s face pushed to the back in favor of praying that he didn’t get into trouble for taking almost twice the amount of time allowed for his break. He skidded into the bar and tugged off his jacket as he weaved between the crowd of drunk college students and even drunker office minions. He glanced fearfully at Lydia as he slid behind the bar and flushed at the rather pointed look she gave him.

“Sorry, sorry, time kinda…” He waved his hands in front of him in a vague gesture. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why didn’t you call me? When time kinda…” Stiles flapped his hands again.

Lydia pursed her lips and snorted delicately. “And miss out on an opportunity to not only assert my power over you as your manager, to remind you about why you’re here and what you get paid for, but to also grill you for details about your big tipper? Hardly.”

Stiles tilted his head, confused. “My who-the-what?”

“That fine example of hot and gainfully employed you took to dinner.” Lydia pulled a fifty dollar bill out of her apron pocket, holding it up between two fingers. “I guess he liked the service,” she said, voice like warm syrup as she tucked the bill into Stiles’ apron.

“Or the view.” Boyd gave Stiles a bland look over his shoulder.

Stiles raised a haughty eyebrow. “Well yeah, who wouldn’t like to take a good long gander all this?” he asked, wiggling his fingers at his chest before turning to the side. “C’mon Boyd. You know this right here is why you switched to closing shift.” He winked and slapped his hip, giving it a rub for good measure.

“That’s it. You caught me. It had nothing to do with my class schedule. I don’t know how I’m able control myself around you.”

“I’m impressed, dude. That was the most unenthusiastic and bored-sounding confession of crushing desire I’ve ever heard.” He clasped Boyd’s shoulder and looked into his dark brown eyes. ”Consider me flattered. Really.”

“Boys. Drink orders. Remember those?” Lydia stepped between them and set down a Manhattan in front of the older gentleman sitting at the bar, giving him a winning smile when he thanked her. “You’re welcome, Drew.” The smile vanished when she turned back to Stiles and poked him in the ribs. “Now. Spill.”

Stiles eyes widened. “But Lydia, that will cause a slipping hazard. And waste good booze!”

Lydia’s I-am-unimpressed-therefore-you-should-tremble-in-fear-of-me face boosted to level ten.

“Ok, what, there’s nothing to even tell.” Stiles turned away to check the clean glasses status and wipe down the back counter.

“Are you…oh my God, you’re blushing. Stiles ‘I am smoother than the Dos Equis guy’ Stilinski is actually blushing.” She tugged on Boyd’s sleeve and pointed at Stiles in an entirely too gleeful way. “Look!”

Stiles scoffed, manfully ignoring the burning sensation in his cheeks. "Excuse you. I think you mean the Old Spice Guy." He tossed the rag over his shoulder and planted his hands on his hips. When in doubt, layer on the bravado until everyone drowns in it. "Even I know I'm not up to Dos Equis level. I’m the most interesting guy in Palo Alto, not the world.”

"Give it time, I'm sure you'll get there," Boyd said, shaking his head and turning back to the taps.

"Not all of us can be Barry White reincarnated, Boyd. I know my limits. Besides,” Stiles paused to lean his elbow on the bar. “I don’t always take strangers to dinner,” he said, voice lowered into a vaguely European accent. “But when I do, I don’t kiss and tell.” Stiles frowned, reverting to his normal tone. “Metaphorically. I _can_ confirm there was no kissing. Which kinda sucks. Also, no sucking of the fun kind.” Stiles gave an exaggerated pout. “Why wasn’t there fun sucking?” He sighed and shrugged his shoulders as he straightened up. “But! The rest of it?”

Lydia made a get-on-with-it motion with her hand, which Stiles happily ignored in favor of beaming a toothy grin at the bubbly co-ed waving to get his attention. “Still not telling.” He pointed at the older gentleman who was seated at the bar and currently laughing at them. “Not even you, Drew. I don’t care that you’re a regular and know more about our lives than our parents do. These lips are sealed.”

“I would pay to see that,” Boyd said with a grin.

“Who would entertain you then?” Stiles simpered at Boyd.

“I’ve managed for twenty years without you, Stilinski, I think I could survive.”

“That hurts me, Boyd. Right here,” Stiles pressed a hand agains his chest, “in my heartal region.”

"You can't run from me, Stiles,” Lydia huffed. “I know where you live.”

Stiles walked backwards toward the co-ed and gave Lydia his best innocent look. “Of course you do, Lyds. You're sleeping in my spare bedroom."

"I think we both know you're the one in **my** house.”

“Details, details.” Stiles turned away, hoping they would stay busy enough to avoid any further digging for information.

He sighed as he mixed up a flight of cosmos for the sorority sister currently spilling out of her barely-there top and onto the bar at him. ‘Subtle. I’d have no idea you were hoping to get free drinks for a peepshow,’ he thought, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

Honestly though? He wasn’t sure exactly what might come out of his dinner with Derek. He knew that he’d like it to involve the two of them, naked, and in a variety of acrobatic positions. Stiles was ninety-nine percent…well, okay, maybe sixty-seven percent positive Derek would be agreeable to his plan. At least he was over two-thirds confident, right?

He pasted on a professionally flirty smile, handed over the candy pink drinks, and reveling in the annoyance in her face when he tacked on a few extra dollars to her total, just for the hell of it.

Stiles sighed. He really hoped Derek called him. Tonight would be awesome, but he knew better than to get his hopes up.

****

Derek had no idea how he did it, but he managed to keep from calling Stiles as soon as he got home. He knew he’d still be up, but Derek really didn’t want to seem as desperate as he apparently was. As it is, he sat in his car for ten minutes, phone in hand, ready to dial the newest number in his address book. He also refrained from calling Laura, mostly because he knew she would not be up and was likely to try and kill him through the phone for waking her at three in the morning for a non-fatal non-emergency.

Besides, was there even anything to tell her? Nothing had actually happened. Getting dinner and someone’s phone number wasn’t exactly a big deal. Even though it kind of was for Derek. He hadn’t been this interested in someone since that fiasco with Jennifer last year. He shuddered and tried to lock that particular set of memories back down, deep inside his head where he could pretend it had never happened.

He unlocked his front door and reached in to switch the light on. He knew better than to immediately step inside. McKeever was an easy-going cat until you stepped on his paws or tail. Derek still had scars on his ankle from the one and only time he’d made that mistake.

“Hey, little man,” Derek said (he did not coo, no matter what Laura claimed), reaching down to pick the cat up before stepping inside and locking the door behind him. “Oof, you are not getting any smaller, are you.” He smiled when the cat went limp in his arms, purring as loud as the engine in his Camaro. Derek maneuvered McKeever to drape over his shoulder, laughing when he got an earful of whiskers and wet nose, and set his laptop bag down next to the door.

“I met someone tonight,” he murmured into the thick cream-colored fur on McKeever’s neck, rubbing his cheek over the cat’s head. He sat on his favorite chair and sighed, let himself go as limp as the cat in his arms. Derek’s head dropped back and he started at the ceiling, slowly scratching the silky fur under McKeever’s ear.

“He gave me his phone number and told me to call him.”

“Mrowr.”

“No, not tonight. As much as I want to, I don’t want to scare him off.”

Derek felt the cat shift and slide down his chest. He lifted his head and looked down. He couldn’t help but smile at the big blue eyes slowly blinking at him.

“Is it past your dinner time?” Derek rubbed his fingers along the cat’s chin, smiling when the purring got louder before the cat jumped down and trotted toward the kitchen. “I guess that means you’re more interested in your stomach than my love life.”

“Mrrrrrrp.”

Derek decided a long, hot shower was in order. Not that it worked out quite the way he’d expected. All he could think about was Stiles. The way he laughed, open and bright, his confident smiles and flirtatious banter, his eyes and his broad shoulders, those **hands**. So if Derek ended up stroking himself roughly to the memory of how those fingers felt against his thigh, inside his pocket, and if he came so hard his knees gave out and he had to slump against the tiled wall while he got his breath back…well. No one needed to know that.

Derek thought that would have been enough to let him drop off quickly, but it hadn’t. He laid in bed for an hour, staring at the ceiling, scratching McKeever’s ears, willing himself to sleep before giving up around midnight and stumbling downstairs to his office to read through the material he’d brought home. By three, his eyes were stinging and his focus was gone. He trudged back up to his bedroom and tried to find a comfortable position around McKeever, grumbling about the exponential expansion of cats at rest and their ability to take up half of a queen size bed.

He managed to doze off for an hour before he woke up again and gave up sleep as a lost cause. Derek dressed in the dark (mostly because McKeever always mewed pitifully when the light suddenly went on before hiding his face under his paws) and stumbled back downstairs to finish getting ready for the day.

It had been going well, right up until he woke up a few hours later to his phone alarm blaring in his hand. Because apparently passing out on the couch clutching his phone and a handful of socks was a thing now. He rushed to finish getting dressed and grabbed his paperwork before running out the door without checking his appearance in a mirror. Which had obviously been a mistake.

“Boss, you okay there?” Erica’s brows drew together in concern, and she followed him into his office.

“Mfrm.”

“Yeah, didn’t catch that.”

Derek opened his mouth and let the ‘enjoy your hot sandwich!’ bag he’d been carrying between his teeth drop onto his desk. “I’m fine.” He set his laptop bag on the floor and sat down, gripping the paper cup full of coffee like the lifeline it was.

“You sure about that? You kinda look like you went on a joyride through hell, then got ran over by a couple of trucks on your way back.” She stared pointedly at his hair, then at the rather wrinkled state of his shirt. The less said about his trousers the better. He was pretty sure there was a toothpaste stain right around the fly area.

Derek was absurdly happy that his trousers were long enough to hide the fact that his socks were mismatched. One of these days he was going to be able to prove that McKeever somehow got into his sock drawer and stole one of each pair. He’d probably find them hidden behind the fridge or tucked away in some dark corner of the mudroom.

He tugged at his shirt. “Is it that bad? I don’t have any meetings today, do I?”

Erica gave him what, for her, amounted to a sympathetic smile. Most people thought she looked more like a shark. “Yes it is, and no, you don’t.”

Derek gave up on the shirt and tried to tame his hair instead. “I ran out of gel and forgot to pick some up yesterday.”

“Did you also get dressed at one in the morning and then fall asleep in your clothes?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Four, actually.”

“For what. For me? Awww, did you put clothes on just for lil ole me? You really shouldn’t have. I know for a fact Denise would have preferred you in all your natural glory.”

Derek pulled back in slight horror. “What? No. What the hell, Erica. Four. In the morning. Is when I got dressed.”

She sighed. “Derek, when are you going to listen to me and look into meditation? Or yoga?Melatonin? Hell, maybe even prescription sleep meds? You can’t keep going on a few hours of shut eye each night.”

He could feel the mutinous expression settle into his features. “I don’t need pills and I already work out. I get along just fine on a few hours.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Which is why you look like…” she waved a dismissive hand at him. “That. And why you’re grumpy so often.” Erica put her hands on his desk and leaned forward, crowding Derek so that he was leaning as far back in his chair as he could. “Do I need to call your sister, Derek? Is that where this is going?”

Derek swallowed hard. “I can fire you, you know.” His threat would have been believable if his voice didn’t have a distinct undercurrent of fear.

Erica pushed herself up right and laughed. “Good luck with that. You wouldn’t last a day without me.”

Dammit. She knew she was the only EA he could work with. The rest of them were either afraid of him or stared inappropriately at him. Sometimes both. At the same time. Derek didn’t understand it, and made a point not to interact with the assistants more than strictly necessary. He grumbled under his breath and held his cup closer to his face, rolling his eyes when Erica snickered again and sauntered out, closing the door behind her.

She was right though. He looked rough. He’d been so worked up over his dinner with Stiles that he hadn’t been able to relax.

Derek sighed. Too late to do anything about it now. He tipped his head back, greedily sucking down the last mouthful of coffee. He sighed and bent down to tug his computer out, locked it into the dock on his desk, and pulled his black button up sweater off the back of his chair (he refused to call it a cardigan, no matter what Erica and Laura said), hoping it would cover the worst of the wrinkles in his dress shirt and the stain on his lap. He pushed his glasses up his nose and settled in to work, willing himself to focus.

Ten minutes later, after reading only two of the fifty-odd emails waiting in his inbox, he gave up and reached into his pocket for his phone.

For the third time.

It truly was the charm, because instead of aborting as soon as his hand approached his hip, Derek actually took the device out and swiped his finger over the screen to unlock it. Wondering what exactly the hell he was doing, he scrolled directly to the ’O’ section in his contacts. If Derek felt like being honest with himself, he would have been concerned over his behavior. As it was, he wasn’t in a particularly navel-gazing kind of mood this morning and would rather think about why Stiles chose to name him self “Ocean’s 11”.

Derek sighed. He couldn’t even justify texting Stiles this early, especially since he really didn’t have anything to say. Stiles worked at a bar for Christ’s sake. He probably hadn’t even gotten home until a few hours ago. Derek would feel terrible if he woke him up just to thank him for dinner. Unless Derek could use his hands and tongue to wake Stiles up. That would be a much more satisfying way of saying thank you.

He leaned forward and gently banged his forehead against the table. He couldn’t ignore the way his stomach tightened or the tingling in his fingers at the mere idea of talking to Stiles. It was making him feel like a teenaged girl obsessing over her first crush and Derek had to admit that he would deserve every second Laura was going to spend mocking and laughing and calling him Derika and asking which boy band posters he’d hung up in his room. Why he still told Laura _anything_ was a question Derek had not been able to answers in several years.

Well. If he was going to be a teenaged girl, he was going to play the damn part.

Derek sat back, slouched in his chair and glanced at the door, making sure it was still firmly closed before holding his phone up and typing.

**To: Ocean’s 11** : _Good morning_

Wow. Really?

Derek deleted the text and stared at the blinking cursor. He twisted his chair a few inches to one side, then back the other way.

**To: Ocean’s 11** : _Hey_

Jesus, that was even worse.

**To: Ocean’s 11** : _I think my boss made a deal with Lucifer and is plotting to drag me into the fiery depths with him._

Derek squinted at the screen. No, too serious for a first text. He pushed his head into the back of his chair and chewed on the corner of his lower lip.

**To: Ocean’s 11** : _I can’t sleep at night. I think you could help fix that._

He shook his head and deleted again. Brought his feet up to rest on the desk and smiled to himself.

**To: Ocean’s 11** : _Roses are red, violets are blue, I enjoyed last night but when can I suck you?_

Derek snorted and quickly erased the message. ‘ _Maybe not_.' He looked around his office and clicked his tongue against his teeth, looking for inspiration.

**To: Ocean’s 11** : _Your giant brown eyes remind me of moon pies and I want to eat you_

“Dammit, lick, not eat. Fucking autocorrect.” Derek glanced at the bottom of the screen and went to tap on the correct word.

And hit send instead.

He stared blankly at his phone for a moment before his feet hit the floor and his thumbs were flying across the screen.

**To: Ocean’s 11** : _Jesus fuck no, come back_

Derek blinked at the screen. Holy shit did he just send that? **Both** of those?

“Oh God,” he whispered, jumping to his feet and rushing around his desk. He pulled his door open. “Erica!” He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he shouted. Well. Wailed, if he was being honest. He clung to the doorway and stared at his phone in growing horror.

“Derek, what the hell!” Erica rushed up to him, and started to pat his arms and chest. “What happened, are you hurt?”

He stared at her for almost a minute before holding his phone up to her nose. “It won’t come back,” he whispered.

Erica’s head reared back so that she could look at the dark screen inches from her face. “What the fuck are you even…” She pushed him into his office and shut the door behind them, leaning against it as she tried to figure out what happened to make her typically unflappable boss flap like this.

Derek stared mournfully at his phone. “How do you get it to come back?”

“How do you get **what** to come back? I don’t understand what you’re asking me!”

“The **text**!” he shouted. He felt bad as soon as he saw her flinch back. “No, I’m sorry. Oh my god, I didn’t mean to…I’m…but…Erica, what did I **do**?”

“How the hell should I know what you did!” She threw her hands up to emphasize exactly how done she was with Derek’s particular brand of crazy.

Derek drew a deep breath through his nose and slowly exhaled. “How. Do I. Retrieve. A text message.”

Erica pulled her chin toward her neck. “You **don’t**. Seriously, what the actual fuck, Derek.”

“Never mind,” Derek sighed as his shoulders slumped. “Sorry for interrupting you. You can go back to your desk.”

“No, I don’t think so.” She leaned forward. “Not until you tell me what has you flipping out to this degree.”

“Erica!” Derek dropped his head into his hands, bashing his phone into his forehead. “Please. Go back to work.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “But you so owe me an explanation for this shit.” She stared at him for a moment before shaking her head and storming out of his office.

He quietly shut his door, ignoring the curious looks the assistants in the cube farm were giving him, and slunk back to his desk. Stiles hadn’t replied. Maybe he could salvage this situation?

**To: Ocean’s 11** : _I am SO sorry, please, I didn’t mean what you probably think I meant._

Was that even going to be enough of an apology?

**To: Ocean’s 11** : _I can’t even explain what that was. I didn’t sleep well last night and_

FUCK. Why did he keep hitting the send button! Derek could almost hear Laura’s hyena mating call laugh, feel the phantom irritation of her pointing at him and poking his face, gleeful and reveling in his mortification.

 

**To: Ocean’s 11** : _Not that that’s an excuse. I don’t have any excuses. I don’t actually want to eat you. Not in a cannibalistic way at least. The sexy way, yes, definitely, but nothing creepy._

Holy mother of all creation. “What in the fucking shit is wrong with me,” Derek whispered, watching in an almost detached amazement as another horrifyingly embarrassing text was inexplicably sent by his own hand. Did his subconscious really hate him this much?

**To: Ocean’s 11** : _Yeah, so I'm going to go die now. Thanks for the impromptu date - glad we got to go out once before I go commit seppuku._

Why the hell not. Derek hit send one last time before finally, mercifully, locking his phone and putting it safely away in his laptop bag.

“Fuck all of it with a cactus,” he muttered and sat down, typed out a quick email to his boss explaining that he wasn’t feeling well and would be going home for the day. He’d drown his sorrows in hot chocolate and gelato. At least McKeever would be happy to see him. Derek was pretty sure his cat wouldn’t judge him for this spectacular lack of judgment and restraint.

He pulled his laptop from the dock and shoved it into his bag, absurdly happy when he heard it crunch against the evilness that was his phone. He dumped the uneaten breakfast sandwich into the trash bin under his desk and walked to the door. Derek rested his forehead against it for a moment to put his ‘don’t bother me’ expression firmly in place, then stepped back and opened his door.

He could feel the EAs staring at him but he manfully ignored them and walked to the half wall of Erica’s cubicle.

“I’m going home. Call me if anything urgent comes up,” he half whispered.

She gave him a hard look and stood up, leaning over the wall separating them. “Derek, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. I’m just not feeling well. See you tomorrow.”

He waited until she nodded and quickly walked down the hall to the stairs, hurrying to get back to the safety of his home.

****

Stiles tired to not fistpump the air when he swooped in and dropped his bag on the table, narrowly avoiding a troop of obnoxious suits too busy talking loudly about some hot company and how they were going to bag it. He did not try to contain his eye-rolling. Seriously, who did these asshats think they were going to impress? Using sexual euphemisms when talking business was just awkward and uncomfortable for anyone unfortunate enough to overhear, not to mention inherently problematic. It sometimes seemed like just about everyone in this town was a high-monied professional chasing a unicorn or a student who was thinking up the next unicorn for those douches to chase and none of them tried to be decent people.

 _Except maybe Derek_ , Stiles thought with a smirk.

It was always cramped and crowded at The Coop and actually finding an open table was akin to finding a diamond encrusted platinum ring in your pocket after washing a load of laundry. Stiles considered himself a table ninja though. He could almost always grab a table before it was technically available. The two main weapons in his table-nabbing arsenal were hovering too close and charming (read: terrifying) strangers with intense eye contact and wide smiles. He was undecided which worked best, but he didn’t really care and his high score in this game was one of the reasons he was always the first to arrive when he met friends at a cafe.

He leaned down and gave a soft whoop of victory when he saw that not only had he unlocked a table achievement, but he’d scored one next to a power outlet. This was leagues better than a diamond and platinum ring. This was the goddamned Holy Grail of Coffee Shop Tables. Life was **awesome**.

Stiles draped his jacket over one chair and made sure his messenger back was prominently displayed on the table, a warning symbol to any other would-be table ninjas that this wooden island of perfection was claimed. He’d plant a flag if he could. Huh. Maybe he should start carrying a flag on a little suction cup arrow and stick it to tables he claimed. Sure some people would think he was being a dick about temporarily owning the table, but one had celebrate the little victories in life, right?

Still contemplating the logistics of carrying around plastic arrows and potential designs for his table-flag, Stiles shuffled between the tightly packed seating area to the end of the line. He studied the pastries, did a quick mental tally of the contents of his wallet and heaved a resigned sigh. He’d have to skip the lemon meringue mini cake, even if it did make his mouth water. Damn his anemic checking account.

Stiles placed his order and was heading back to the grand prize that was his outlet-owning-table when he saw Scott walk through the doorway.

“Hey Buddy!” Stiles waved when his friend stopped short and looked around.

“Dude!” Scott dropped his bag on the empty chair and caught Stiles up in a hug.

“Scott,” Stiles wheezed, slapping lightly at his friend’s shoulder. “Oxygen. It’s a thing I need.”

“Whatever, you know my hugs are worth a bit of asphyxiation. You order already?” Scott asked after one last squeeze to Stiles’ ribcage before letting go so his friend could breathe properly and sit down.

“Yep. Got you a spicy mocha too.” Stiles grinned at the delighted look on Scott’s face. It always reminded him a puppy wriggling out of happiness, especially when he bounced a little in his seat. Just like he was doing now in fact. “Don’t break the chair, bro.”

“You got me a spicy mocha?” Scott asked, ignoring Stiles’ admonition regarding the stability of the furniture. His eyes lit up as Stiles nodded. “How’d you know that’s what I wanted today! I swear you’re psychic sometimes.”

“Scotty, I know you better than you know you and I have done for over twenty years. It’s not exactly magic.”

“Sty-less!”

He stood up when an abysmal approximation of his name was called out and picked his way through the never-ending throng of people clustered at the pick-up counter. “Thanks, man!” Stiles grinned at the barista and picked up the ceramic cups, using his bar tending skills to maneuver quickly around the crowd and back to the table without spilling any of the piping hot liquid on himself or any innocent bystanders. He laughed when he saw Scott was making grabby hands at the cup the entire time.

“Hey, so how is Allison settling in? You guys have all your stuff worked out?”

Scott pouted at Stiles over the rim of his mug. “You’d know if you hadn’t moved out.”

“Awwww, I know you miss me, bud. I miss you too. I even miss Allison. What I **don’t** miss is listening to you two practicing for the sexual olympics every night. And most mornings. And every other afternoon.” He raised an eyebrow at the dopey, faraway look on Scott’s face. “Dude, you were just with her. Can you put your libido on hold for ten minutes so I can get some quality bro time?”

Scott laughed and shook his head. “Sorry, I’ll behave.”

“Yeah, yeah, heard it before. Hey, you got a charger with you? My phone’s dead.” Stiles leaned back and dug into his pocket as Scott twisted to rummage through his messenger bag.

“Did yours break again?” Scott ducked under the table to plug the adaptor in. “I thought you were going to get a new one.”

Stiles plugged the phone in and set it on the corner of the table. “I was going to, but then I saw the price. They want forty bucks for it! I’ll wait until the contract is up for renewal and get a new phone and charger then.”

Scott frowned and rested his elbows on the table. “Can you wait that long?”

“Oh yeah, I just didn’t pay attention when I plugged it in last night. I can borrow one of Lydia’s until then,” Stiles replied with a dismissive wave.

“Stiles, you know I can lend you some cash if you need it. My dad’s still trying to buy his way back into my life, so it’s not like it’s a huge hardship to help you out.”

Stiles focused on his chai. He didn’t like talking about how tight money was, even with his best friend. “I know. I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine. Besides,” he lifted his head and wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think either of us want to touch blood money.” His expression smoothed out when Scott laughed and hoped the subject was closed for now.

“Seriously though, Stiles.”

He sighed. Apparently hopes and wishes really did belong in the land of be-winged piglets and cotton candy clouds.

“Look, things are better since I moved in with Lydia. I’m not being charged eight fifty for a room that doesn’t have a lock or a private bathroom anymore. She actually didn’t want to accept any money from me. I had to start giving her cashiers checks for utilities and do half the grocery shopping myself just to make sure she didn’t sneak cash back into my wallet.

“Dude, her parents own the condo. There’s no rent or utilities to pay.” Scott stirred his mocha and lifted the spoon to his mouth to lick the whipped cream and chocolate away.

“I know that, but I’m not going to accept charity from anyone. I promised my dad I could do this on my own and I’m going to fucking to do this without handouts,” Stiles snapped. He huffed pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”

“Stiles, you’re always an asshole,” Scott grinned at him and nudged his knee against Stiles’ under the table. “It’s your choice and I know you want to prove yourself here. I just want you to remember that you don’t **have** to do everything alone. It’s okay to ask for help.” Scott held up his hands in surrender before Stiles’ eyebrows had fully lowered into a glower. “Moving on. What happened last night? Something good I’m guessing, since your text was four lines of happy emojis.”

Stiles relaxed back into his chair and gave Scott a slow grin.

“Awwww, did you get laid? Atta boy!” Scott held his fist out for Stiles’ to bump.

Stiles rolled his eyes and ignored Scott’s hand hovering over the table. “No. Not laid.” He sat up and rested his chin on his hands. “But I did meet someone.”

Scott lowered his hand and smiled. “Just as good. So tell me about this non-gender-specific individual.” Scott mirrored Stiles pose and put on what Stiles called his ‘I am paying super close attention to what you’re saying and committing every vowel to memory, even though I look like I have indigestion’ face.

Stiles did a mental wriggle of happiness. “Gender specific individual is male. Of the ‘holy shit, hot like the sun’ variety. Scott, seriously, I can’t **even**.” His gaze went unfocused as he thought about Derek and his stubble and eyebrows that seemed to have more range of emotion than his face, but only until he laughed because then his entire face came alive with the eyes and the full lips and the **teeth** , don’t even get him started on the teeth.

“Oh my God, is that what I look like when I think about having sex with Allison? ‘Cause now I totally understand why you smack the back of my head when I do.”

“I wasn’t thinking about sex,” Stiles scoffed before his mouth twisted to the side. “Well I wasn’t until now.” It was a glorious thought but one that he forcefully pushed aside. He was not going to get an awkward boner in the coffee shop. Not ever again.

“Okay, not-imaging sexy times aside, tell me about him. What’s his name? What does he look like? Beyond hotter than the center of our solar system. What does he do? How old is he?”

“Derek. He’s my height, maybe a hair shorter than me, muscular but not stupidly bulky and roided out, black hair, light greenish eyes, though I was kind of more focused on his ridiculously sexy would-be-hipster-if-he-wasn’t-wearing-a-suit glasses and the crinkles in the corners of his eyes when he laughed…”

Scott snapped his fingers in front of Stiles’ face, forcing him out of his daydreams again. Stiles laughed and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“Sorry, he’s just…gah,” Stiles whisper-shouted with a jazz-hands accompaniment. He looked down and twisted his mug between his hands. “I’m not sure what he does other than probably being some kind of corporate minion. Which would be a downright shame but, oh my god, the way his assets filled out those trousers.” Stiles paused to bite a knuckle dramatically. “I think he’s in his late twenties or early thirties?” He focused back on Scott. “He was drowning a bad day at the bar last night and kept staring at my ass. Lydia and Boyd didn’t get any creeper vibes from him so I asked him to go to dinner with me.”

“Duh, who wouldn’t want to stare at your ass all night?” Scott leered at Stiles.

“That’s exactly what I told Boyd and Lydia!” He leaned back gestured down his body. “Just look at this. This here is what keeps the ladies and gents coming in every evening.”

Scott wrinkled his nose. “As much as I might agree with you, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Because Lyds will find out and I don’t know if there would be enough left of you to ship back to your dad. We might have to bury an empty casket.”

“Good point.” Stiles shuddered, imagining the ravaging his ego would suffer at the hands of a pissed off Lydia. “Anyway, tell me how your classes are going.”

“Do I have to?” Scott pouted. “It’s vet school. I’m learning about how to medically care for animals. I’d rather hear more about your new crush.”

“Scott, don’t waggle your eyebrows. I’ve told you, it just doesn’t work with your face.” Stiles tried to reign back a snort of laughter as Scott’s eyebrow game intensified. “There isn’t much more to say. He’s hot, we went to dinner, we talked geek, I was back at work almost half an hour late and Lydia didn’t even get mad at me. Oh,” Stiles let a lazy grin spread over his face as he watched Scott lift his mug to his lips. “And I stuck my hand in his pants in the middle of Green’s.”

Getting glared at by his best friend was totally worth the look on Scott’s face when he tried to swallow, cough and talk all at once.

“You did that on purpose,” Scott accused as he tried to blot the mocha that had dribbled down his shirt. “Do you know how painful it is to get spicy mocha in your nose?”

“Of course I do. Mostly because of you. How could I let a golden opportunity to share that experience pass me by?”

“I hate you sometimes,” Scott grumbled, his eyes still watering. “You exchanged numbers, right? Has he called you yet?”

“No you don’t.” Stiles patted Scott’s arm in sympathy. “And I’m not sure. Dead phone, remember?”

Scott gave him an unimpressed stare. “So turn it on. It’s been charging long enough.” He picked his cup up again and quickly downed the rest of his drink before Stiles could say anything else.

Stiles glanced at his phone, almost having forgotten about it. “You’re one of the only people I talk to that can make me forget my phone. I hope you know how special that makes you.”

“I wish I could say the same, bro.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow at Scott and his shit-eating grin. “I’ll remember that next time you need me to run to the drug store for an emergency condom and/or pregnancy test run,” he muttered as he turned his phone on.

“That threat doesn’t really work, considering we don’t live together anymore.”

Scott was getting way too cocky here. Stiles was going to have to do something to knock him down a few notches. After he checked his messages.

Stiles’ plotting was interrupted by a shrieking wolf whistle and his instinctual reaction was to throw the loud sound away from him. Unfortunately, the sound had originated from his phone. Which bounced off Scott’s face and clattered back to the table, emitting a few more piercing whistles before going blessedly silent.

He glanced around, wide-eyed, to find that nearly the entire cafe was now silent and staring at them. Him, specifically.

“Sorry! Sorry, everyone. Didn’t mean to…yeah. Sorry.”

Stiles ducked his head down to focus on the source of his public embarrassment for the day. “Fucking phone.” He glanced up and winced again when he saw Scott holding his hand over one side of his face and glaring at him with one eye.

“Before you get mad at me-“

“Too late.”

“…fair enough.” Stiles gave Scott his most winning smile. “At least you’re safe in the knowledge that I didn’t throw my phone at you on purpose, right?”

Scott just glared harder.

“You know I have to turn the volume all the way up to hear it over the noise in the bar! And since it died and my charger didn’t work, I didn’t get a chance to turn it back to a reasonable level. See, it’s not like this was an elaborate scheme to wound you and embarrass me.” Stiles paused. “Your super-duper unimpressed look is really coming along. I’m proud of you. Are you still taking lessons from Boyd?”

Scott rubbed at his cheek. “You’re just lucky you missed my eye. Allison likes my eyes. **Both** of them.” His hand dropped to the table and pushed Stiles phone back towards him. “Who’s responsible for my near-fatal injury?”

Stiles picked the ostensibly harmless devise up. “We can blame…” he keyed in his passcode, quickly dialed the volume down and tapped on his text icon. “….uh…” Stiles held the phone away from him and looked at it in concerned confusion. “What the hell.” He brought the phone back to his face, scrolled up and down a few times, read the texts again, mouth moving silently, blinking rapidly as he did.

Scott grabbed the phone when Stiles dropped it back on the table. Before he could read the messages the screen, he heard Stiles wheezing and glanced up in concern.

“Stiles, why are you turning purple?”

Stiles only response was a faint gurgle and an emphatic gesture at his phone.

Scott watched Stiles for another moment, then swiped his finger across the screen to wake it up again.

“ _Your giant brown eyes remind me of moon pies and I_ —what the fuck.” Scott’s head whipped up to stare at Stiles who was now doubled over and clutching at his stomach. “Dude, what the fuck.”

Stiles finally pulled in a deep enough breath to laugh properly. And very, very loudly. He didn’t even **care** that everyone in the cafe was looking at them again. “Oh my God,” he squeaked out between guffaws, his feet kicking a little and one hand slapping at the table. “OH MY GOD. Read. Keep,” he wheezed again, “reading!”

“Dude, someone wants to EAT you!” Scott looked like he couldn’t decide if he was horrified or wanted to laugh with Stiles.

Stiles just jabbed a finger at the phone and tried to get his breathing under control.

“ _Jesus fuck no, come back_ ,” Scott’s eyes widened and he seemed to finally decide on hilarity. “Stiles, what the hell?”

Stiles clutched at his belly again and banged on the table with his fist.

Scott quickly scrolled through the other messages. “ _So sorry…didn’t sleep…Not in a cannibalistic way_ …Stiles, this is…who **is** this?”

Stiles, who was now hunched in on himself, breathed deeply through his nose and pushed the air out in a steady stream from his mouth a few times. “I think,” he hiccoughed, “I’m pretty sure that’s,” made a strangled noise, “Derek!” Stiles ended with a near-howl of glee.

“Oh my god. Dude, calm down!” Scott looked around and gave his best puppy eyes and dopey smile double whammy to the people who were once more glaring at them. He tossed in a self-deprecating shrug and dug his heel into Stiles’ foot.

“I’m so sorry!” Stiles gasped, waving at the entire cafe. “Sorry, I promise to not interrupt your lives again!” He bit his lip and tried to hold his breath and avoided looking at Scott for fear he’d set him off again.

“Stiles? Why is Derek going to commit seppuku?”

Stiles couldn’t help it. He collapsed onto the table in another round of obscenely loud giggles.

Scott watched as Stiles turned an alarming shade of red.

“Dude, you need to breathe. In,” he sucked in a loud, exaggerated breath, “and out.” In the middle of his demonstration of the proper way to exhale for calmness, Scott cried out and curled into himself. “Not. Cool,” he gasped, rubbing his shin. “Why the hell are you kicking me!” Scott glared and kicked him back.

It seemed to do the trick. Stiles dragged a lungful of air in, then another, slowly bringing himself back to his usual healthy shade of pale.

“Scott, I have to call him back,” Stiles wheezed, rubbing the moisture from his eyes.

Scott’s face squished into his confused puppy look, an expression that never failed to make Stiles want to pat him on the head and give him treats. “But why would you call someone back who compared you to retro candy and wants to go Hannibal on you?”

Stiles shook his head and took one last deep breath, glad his fit of hilarity was under control. It’d suck to get kicked out of the only cafe in the area where he could get his spicy chocolate fix. “ **Because** he compared me to retro candy, Scott. Even better: **chocolatey** retro candy. Seriously, who even does that? And, FYI, I’m totally down for the sexy kind of eating me.” He leered at his best friend.

Scott wrinkled his nose. “I dunno man, this guy kinda sounds unstable.”

“He sent a text asking his first text to come back. That is a level of fail that few can achieve and fewer can appreciate. Lucky for Derek, I’m one of the later. I can’t leave the poor guy hanging. But,” Stiles collapsed back into his chair. “I’ll have to wait for my phone to finish charging, so you’re stuck with me for at least another thirty minutes. Yay you!” He laughed when Scott lifted his hand in the most unenthusiastic fist pump he’d ever seen.

They chatted about the apartment, Stiles’ job, how his dad and Scott’s mom and everyone else back home was doing, what they each dress up as for Halloween. Sure, it was only mid-September, but it was never too early to plan. And if Stiles checked his phone every couple of minutes for new messages, that was okay. It wasn’t like Scott hadn’t done the same to him a thousand times before. Still did, actually. Stiles wasn’t sure how Scott and Allison didn’t get sick of each other. Living together changed relationships.

He perked up when he saw the indicator light switch from red to green, signaling a full battery, and unplugged his phone, carefully coiling the charger up for Scott to put back in his bag.

“So, you’re going to call me, right? After you call unstable random text guy, you’re going to call me and tell me that you’re safe and still have all your bits intact?”

“Oh my God, Scott, I’m going to talk to him on the _phone_ , not lay my nubile self out on a table for him to dig into.” Stiles wrinkled his nose, mirroring Scott’s current facial expression. “That sounded kinda wrong, but still kinda sexy.”

“You have problems.”

Stiles grinned and patted Scott’s hand. “We established that a long time ago buddy. But hey, maybe Derek is the right kind of twisted to appreciate my quirks.”

Scott punched Stiles in the shoulder. “That, or we’ll find a trail of your body parts on the highway in a few days.”

Stiles clutched hands together in front of his chest. “You’re so supportive, boo.”

They laughed and walked out of the cafe, much to the other patrons delight. They paused on the sidewalk and, before Stiles could pull him into their standard parting bro-hug, Scott reached up and gripped Stiles arms, holding him still, an uncharacteristic frown marring his face. Stiles brow furrowed in confusion.

“Seriously though, promise me you’ll be safe. Dating crazy people isn’t a thing you need or want to do.” Scott gave Stiles a stern look, which Stiles found both adorable and a little disturbing.

“Scott, I promise. Besides, you are the one with the history of dating unstable people, not me. This is not going to end up like the Kira situation.” They both winced.

“How was I supposed to know she thought she was descended from Japanese fox spirits! She seemed normal enough when I met her.”

“Scott. She had the largest knife and sword collection I’ve seen outside of a gun show.”

“Lots of people collect weird things.”

“She said they were made from her tails and harnessed the power of lightening.”

Scott hung his head. “At least I broke it off with her before she hurt someone.”

Stiles patted him on the arm. “Yeah. Thankfully her family decided to move to somewhere she could ‘be more comfortable’. But my point is, I’m like eighty-six point seven four three percent sure Derek isn’t that brand of crazy. He seems more…” Stiles waved his hand around. “I dunno. Adorably awkward and kinda failboaty.” He smiled when Scott nodded. “Ok then,” he said, hugging Scott tight for a moment. “I believe you have a quiz to study for. Get gone, we’ll talk later.”

Stiles watched Scott until he rounded the corner before he pulled his phone out, re-read Derek’s texts and snickered. He tapped his phone on his chin before grinning and turning toward the park a few blocks away.

Stiles whistled the entire way to his destination and found a clean bench to sit on. He glanced around, thankful that the lunch crowds had thinned out and any local kids were either in school or in day care. Stiles debated if responding by text was a good idea or not. If he’d sent something that hilarious, he might hide under his bed and not look at his phone for a month. Maybe talking would be a better idea. In person would be ideal, but Stiles didn’t know where Derek worked or lived. And really, showing up in person after those messages might not be the best thing.

He could be patient. Kind of. If it was absolutely necessary. That didn't mean he wasn't going to milk this for all he could though. The chance to tease someone that seemed as put-together as Derek did? Not a thing he was going to let slip by. So yeah. Phone call. He could do that. Stiles knee bounced in a combination of anticipation and nervousness.

He bit his tongue and pressed the call button.

****

Derek was stupidly happy he had some ginger gelato left in the freezer. Desperate times called for desperate measures and he was not above a little ice cream therapy in place of his usually healthy lunch. Especially not after the morning’s stellar display of stupid.

He angrily dug his spoon into the creamy deliciousness and scooped out a large amount of gelato, shoving it into his mouth as quickly as he could manage without it slipping off the spoon and into his lap, brain freeze be damned. Once he’d sucked most of the gelato off the utensil, he flipped it over and left it in his mouth, tongue tapping at the inverted bowl.

“Mrrrrrrow.”

Derek looked down where McKeever was sprawled out over the couch cushion next to him. He pulled the spoon out of his mouth, dropped it back into the tub, and wiped his hand on his sweatpants before reaching over to scratch his cat’s chin. McKeever’s ridiculously loud purring forced a smile onto Derek’s face and he was glad for it, even if it did feel stiff and a little painful.

A muffled chirp had him freezing in place. McKeever did not appreciate the pause in chin-scratching activities and gave the offending fingers a sharp nip. Derek grunted and decided to put his hand to better use. Mainly that of using the spoon in one hand in conjunction with the creamy perfection in a portable cardboard container in his other hand.

A second chirp made him slowly looked toward the general area where he’d dumped his bag in his mad rush to hide himself away. He half hoped he was hearing things, maybe going insane. Or hey, even finding out his house was haunted sounded good at this point.

Derek stared at his bag and slowly dug the spoon into the gelato. He’d just brought the gingery treat up to his mouth when he heard the chirp again. If he ignored it, would his phone just disappear?

Yeah, not gonna happen, seeing as how the damned thing was ringing now. Derek squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pluck up the courage to put his gelato down and pick up the damned annoying device. The ringing stopped, just shy of the standard five rings it took before kicking the call into voicemail. He held his breath, stared hard at the bag, and clutched the cold dessert to his chest.

Derek sighed and went to get another spoonful, the ringing started up again.

“Oh, come **on** ,” he huffed in annoyance.

Derek placed his gelato and spoon down on the glass coffee table with a bit more force than necessary and stomped across the hardwood floor to his bag. He yanked on the strap and upended the contents onto the entryway rug. The ringing got louder, as did Derek’s cursing. He thumbed the ‘accept’ button.

“ **What.** ”

“Awwww, don’t be a grumpy DerBear. Turn that growl into a howl.”

Derek dropped his face into his free hand. “Laura. What do you-“

“Happy Thursday, baby bro!” she sang over the line.

“Laura, it’s not a holiday. It’s not my birthday. Or yours, or Peter’s. Or Malia’s.” Derek paused and glanced back toward the couch. “McKeever’s adoption anniversary is in three weeks, so you’re too early for that.”

“So?”

Derek sighed and slumped back onto the sofa, earning himself an unimpressed look from McKeever for upsetting the cushions. “So why the hell are you calling to wish me a happy Thursday?”

Laura scoffed. “ **Because** , buttbrain, you’re talking to **me**. Any day you get to talk to your amazeballs big sister is a happy day!” She paused. “Isn’t that right, Derek.”

“Oh my god, why do I put up with you,” Derek laughed and settled more comfortably into the sofa.

“Because no one else will have you, darling brother”

Derek choked out another laugh, this one tinged with self-deprecation. “That’s not a lie.”

“Awww, Der. What happened to turn you into your very own gloom cloud?”

His head dropped back onto the cushion. “I might have met someone.” Derek winced at the deafening squeal his sister emitted. “I _might_ have. Until…”

“….until what, Derek.”

He didn’t appreciate he way her voice took on a vaguely threatening tone.

“I…may have started composing texts?” Derek wasn’t proud that his statement was more of a question. Or that it was mumbled. His sister had an impressive vocabulary, he’d give her that. Even if it did mostly consist of derogatory descriptions, euphemisms, and some rather inventive similes of his obvious stupidity at the moment.

“Laura!” He shouted once she started with snide commentary on his hair care routine. What did that even have to do with the current situation?

“Derek. You _know_ what happened last time.”

He squirmed uncomfortably. “Of course I do. But it was only Uncle Peter!”

Laura laughed. Loudly. “Yes, it was only Uncle Peter. And it took him only a year to speak to you again.”

“I still don’t see how that was a bad thing,” Derek grumbled. He had apologized, several times. At least one of those apologies was sincere. Well, mostly. It wasn’t Derek’s fault Peter refused to accept it.

“You two, I swear,” Laura sighed. “So, c’mon. Tell me about this person you ‘might’ have met.”

“He’s a bartender at that sports bar across the street from my office.“

“And?”

“And we went to dinner last night during his break. I’m still not sure how that happened.”

“But it did!” Laura hooted. Who actually hoots other than owls? “And?”

“And I had a good time. I think he did too.”

“You think?” she demanded.

Derek rubbed his eyes, considering exactly how much he should tell his sister. “I’m pretty sure he did. He gave me his number. That’s usually what it means, right?”

“Yes! See? He did have a good time. So is he super cute?”

“Laura.” Derek frowned at the coffee table and his rapidly melting gelato.

“What. It’s a valid question.”

“No, it’s not.” Derek dragged a hand down his face. “You know that doesn’t matter to me.”

“What _does_ matter to you then?”

He really hated it when he could _hear_ her smirking. “Things.” He rolled his eyes at her answering scoff. “Stuff.”

“Things and stuff, huh?” Laura’s tone took on a decidedly snide inflection. “Wow, good job, DeeDee, I can tell how much thought you’ve put into this.”

“Shut up, Laura.”

“So…he’s maybe not cute? Are you telling me that he’s bit of a fixer-upper?”

“Uh…no?”

“You don’t sound too sure of that.”

“Considering I just met him last night and the sum total of our minutes spent in conversation is less than sixty, I don’t _think_ he needs fixing. Stiles is…” Derek paused. “Kind of perfect. At least he seemed perfect. But hey, with my track record, I don’t think my judgement is something that should be relied on in these situations.” Derek sighed, leaning his head against the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling.

Laura hummed thoughtfully. “Granted, your past romantic explorations weren’t exactly…well.” She cleared her throat. “But this Stanley-“

“Stiles. His name, well, his nickname is Stiles.”

“That’s…certainly a nickname. Wait. You do know his real name, right?”

“I know his last name.” Derek would never admit to sounding defensive. “And the fact that his actual first name is, for some reason, unpronounceable even to him.”

“That sounds like an awesome story waiting to be told. In fact, it all sounds like an awesome story. You can’t see me, but I’m wriggling down into my chair and I have my chin in my hand. It’s my very best listening pose, you know the one. Now, tell your big sister exactly what happened last night.”

“Fine,” He signed. “So, Harris was being his usual charming self,” he paused to allow Laura her requisite derisive snort, “and shit just kept piling up and I needed a break, so I went across the street to wind down. He was friendly.”

“Babe, that’s his job. He’s there to get you to buy alcohol.”

Derek paused, considered Laura’s words and winced. “Oh. Yeah. Never mind then.”

Laura groaned. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I’m gonna zip the lips now. Tell me everything.”

Derek hesitated, his previous (and already rapidly dwindling) giddiness was nearly gone. He stood up, gathered the gelato and walked into the kitchen to drop the container and melted mess into the trash bin. He rinsed the spoon in silence.

“Derek, don’t make me wheedle. I’m a world class wheedler and you hate it when I wheedle.”

He sighed and leaned on the counter. Derek knew better than to try and wait out Laura. After a rather condensed recounting of the previous evening, making sure to leave anything potentially embarrassing out, Derek huffed. “There you go. End of story.”

Laura started to chuckle. “Feel, don’t conceal, Derek. Turn your back and slam the door on your fear. Let it go, baby bro!”

“Please stop.”

“Open your heart to the magic that is true love!”

“Laura, I’m begging you.”

“Some people are worth melting for!”

“I regret ever agreeing to watch _Frozen_ with you. Never use that film in your faux life coach speeches again.”

“Bet you’re smiling again though, aren’tcha.”

“Smug does not look or sound good on you.” Derek couldn’t help but smile. His sister’s ribbing and laughter usually had that effect on him. “So why did you call me anyway? You aren’t psychic, no matter how often you try to tell me you are.”

“One day I’ll prove that I am,” Laura laughed. “I actually called you because….”

“Because?”

“Shit. I forgot.”

Derek barked out a laugh. “Typical.”

“See, no, this just goes to prove that I **am** psychic. I’ll bet you were curled up on your sofa wearing sweats and eating coffee ice cream, moping over your amazing talent of word vomit via text when I called.”

It was kind of scary how well Laura knew him. “It was ginger gelato. You got that wrong so you can’t be psychic.”

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “Close enough. Even Sherlock gets a detail wrong now and then.”

“Deductive reasoning and clairvoyance are not the same thing.”

“Might as well be,” Laura breezily dismissed his argument.

“Uh-huh. Well, if you didn’t have an actual reason to call me, I’m gonna go.” Derek shuffled back to the entryway and started shoving papers back into his bag.

“You’re not going to wallow some more and eat everything sweet in your kitchen, are you?’

Derek rolled his eyes. “No. I have some work I need to get done. For my job? Remember those? Shouldn’t you be at yours right now?”

“What good is being the boss if I can’t ignore the rules?” She scoffed at the idea of work.

“Not all of us are lucky enough to be the boss,” Derek replied in a bored tone, walking into his home office.

“Fine, fine. Abandon your sister, see if I care.”

“Talk later?” he asked.

“You know it. Ciao babe!”

“Bye, Laur.”

Derek collapsed onto his chair and pulled the stacks of material that still needed to be reviewed. He opened the board deck and started to flip through the pages, trying to find where he’d left off when he’d fallen asleep that morning. Something about 2021 projected sales maybe?

He was startled from shuffling the pages back in order by his phone ringing again. Derek eyed it for a moment until Laura’s picture came up on the screen. He rolled his eyes and picked the call up.

“Seriously?”

“Shut up, I remembered why I called you in the first place,” Laura said.

“Still not psychic,” Derek couldn’t help sing-song at her.

“Bite me,” she replied without heat. “I wanted to check if you’ve booked your flights for Thanksgiving yet.”

“Laura, it’s September. I have plenty of time to book a flight. It’s really not my top priority right now.”

“I’m going to pretend you did not just say that to me.”

Derek winced. “Thank you. I’ll get Erica to start looking at options tomorrow.”

“Good.” Laura hung up.

“Bye to you too, Laura.” Derek rolled his eyes and finished shuffling the last of the stray papers into order.

His phone trilled at him.

Derek pressed the speakerphone button. “Are you trying to be annoying now?”

“I don’t have to try at anything, you know that.”

“Laura, I really do have work to do…”

“Right, yeah, sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I just forgot to tell you to call Peter to coordinate your flights.”

“Laura,” Derek didn’t whine (he totally whined). “Why can’t you call him? We have to work around your schedule anyway, it be better if you told him.”

Laura made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a pshaw to Derek. “You’re a big boy, talk to your damn uncle.”

Thankfully, the line went dead before Derek could start cursing at his sister.

He found his place once again and had just stared making notes on the company’s earnings when his phone rang again. He stabbed the answer button and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Oh my god, I’ll call to arrange the fucking flights today.” Derek growled, only half as irritated as he felt he should be.

“….Really? Where are we going?”

He paused, pen resting on the paper above a growing ink spot, and his brows drew down in confusion. “Excuse me?” He heard an amused humming sound.

“It’s a surprise? Ok, just tell me if I should pack trunks and flip-flops or if I should bring cold weather gear.”

Derek’s eyes widened and he pulled the phone away from his ear to glance at the screen.

_Oh. Shit._

Was there the slightest chance he could bang his head on the table three times and wish for his dignity to come back home? He might still have those red oxfords Malia gave him for Christmas last year, those were close enough to ruby slippers right? Stiles voice brought him out of his musings.

“Derek? You there?”

“Yeah. Yes. I’m here. Hi. Hey.” Or the ground could just open under his chair and let him fall into an abyss instead, he was good with that.

“Hi-hey-hello to you too.”

Derek could hear the smile in his voice. That was a good sign, right? He hadn’t hung up on Derek yet. Though he might if this awkward silence lasted much longer.

“How, uh, how are you doing?” Derek rolled his eyes at himself. Stellar conversation skills, Hale. Zero out of ten would recommend further interactions.

“I’m great! Just had coffee with my bee eff eff and was finally able to charge my phone. Which is when I saw that you texted me.”

Derek took a calming breath. “I did?” When in doubt, play dumb.

“Ooooooh yeah you did. You really, really did,” Stiles snorted. “I have to tell you, I’m pretty damn impressed.”

He closed his eyes in defeat and laid his forehead on the table. Red shoes wouldn’t help today. “Oh?”

“Classic dude, absolutely classic. I especially enjoyed the part about Moonpies. Usually I’d compare my eyes to sunlight reflecting through whiskey or maybe even darkened amber orbs, but I’m giving you major points for the sugar rush inspired imagery.”

Fuck. This was a lot worse than Derek was counting on. It was one thing to make an idiot of himself, it was entirely another thing to be laughed at for it. To his face. Ear. Whatever. Being mocked wasn’t fun, no matter which of his five senses it was directed to.

“Derek?”

He could hear the laughter in Stiles’ voice. Derek wasn’t sure if his sudden nausea was due to eating too much dairy product or his fervent desire to melt into the floorboards. Erica would take care of McKeever, at least until Laura could fly out to settle his estate. Peter could have his wardrobe. Malia was getting the Camero, she’d called dibs when she was fifteen.

“Derek? You there?”

He knew it was rude to not say anything but goddammit, it was even ruder to call someone just to make fun of them, even if that person might have been thinking about sunshine and whiskey last night when he’d been trying to not stare at Stiles.

“…Derek? Hey, I-”

“Look, I’m sorry, I…” Derek paused, unsure of the best way to explain himself. “I have something…I need to get back to work.”

“Oh.”

Why did Stiles sound disappointed? Did he want more time to make fun of Derek for his textual faux pa?

“Are…okay, sure. I just wanted to…I didn’t really get a chance to thank you for last night.”

“I’m sorry?” Laura was always telling him he needed to stop apologizing for everything. Sure, he might sound like a dick if he didn’t, but at least then he could end awkward conversations a lot faster, right?

“I had a really good time last night, and I was so glad that you texted me this morning and I wanted to apologize for not getting back to you sooner. My phone died and my charger is shit and I just saw the messages like twenty minutes ago and I had been kicking myself for not like, stealing your number while I had your phone and I kinda didn’t sleep that great because I was being a dork and thinking about your face and wow I’m going to stop now.”

“I…what? I didn’t catch half of that.”

“Oh, thank god.” Stiles exhaled a shaky oath. “Okay, bottom line. I had a great time last night and I loved those text messages. I knew you were funny, but those are some of the best first-mobile-interaction ice breakers I’ve ever read and I just, I’d really like to get to know you better. If you wanted.” Stiles paused. “Derek?”

Derek wasn’t sure if he needed to breathe in or breathe out or break into a victory dance. “I had a great time last night, too. I…I wanted to apologize for those texts. I’d say that I was exhausted or caffeine deprived, but that would excuse only one message. The others…I, uh, I’m sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles sounded genuinely confused. “They were **awesome** , even if I did almost get kicked out of Coop. I facelamped. Ask Scott.”

“Scott? Wait, facelamped? You mean facepalmed?” _Because that’s what I’ve been doing ever since I met you_ , Derek thought, glad he could at least control his mouth to some degree.

“Naw man, face _lamped_. My face lit up. Like a _lamp_. Ba-dum-tss.”

“Wow. That was…wow,” Derek breathed out amazement. “One of the worst puns I’ve heard in a long time. Why am I attracted to you?” So much for verbal control.

“Because my ass looks amazing in skinny jeans.” Derek could practically hear Stiles preening.

“Bet it looks even better out of them.” He figured he couldn’t get much worse so why not go for it?

He heard Stiles chuckle down the line. “I'm sure you’ll find out sooner or later.” Derek could clearly see the smirk Stiles was likely wearing right now. At least the situation was salvageable, right?

*****

Close fucking call. Stiles knows he’s not the nicest person around, okay? It’s not that he _tries_ to be a dick. Most of the time, that’s the exact opposite of what he wants to be. Except when it comes to his friends ex’s. Those fucktrumpets totally deserve every ounce of charming asshole Stiles can throw at them. That’s **not** what he wants with Derek though. He’d been trying to flirt, trying to find something to laugh about and bond over. Huge mistake, obviously. Note to self, save the teasing until you actually know someone better than one and half conversations.

Still, it seemed like they were back on the right-ish track.

“So, my fine assets aside, and I know you need to get back to being a grown up, I actually wanted to see if you were free tomorrow. Now that I think about it though, your office probably doesn’t close down for random Fridays, does it.”

“Not really. But VC’s do tend to find any little excuse to close for a holiday. Martin Luther King Day, President’s, Good Friday, Labor Day…I’m just waiting for someone to convince HR to approve Talk Like Pirate Day as an actual holiday.”

Stiles bit his lip in an attempt to not snort oh-so-attractively. “Wow. You money types like your days off, don’t you.”

“One of the IT guys got it right when he said ‘if it smells like a holiday, venture capital will claim it’.”

“Any chance we can convince your bosses that tomorrow is Sleep In, Then Meet Someone Awesome For Lunch Day?”

Derek’s laugh sounded slightly breathless. “Pretty sure that wouldn’t fly with upper management.”

“Wait, you’re not upper management?” Stiles asked, feigning disappointment. “Damn, I thought I’d landed one of the big fish.” Fuck, someone get his brain-mouth filter replaced, STAT.

“Uh…”

Shit, Stiles was losing him. “Joke! I’m only joking, I promise. Money doesn’t matter to me. I mean! Crap, that’s not what I mean, I’m not interested in you only because you probably have one hell of a portfolio, oh god that sounds kinda dirty, but it really doesn’t matter to me. The size of your portfolio I mean. Or the size of your dick, really. It’s all how you use what you have, right? And I’m just digging myself a deeper hole oh **Jesus** , I did not mean that to sound dirty too.”

There was a far-too-long hesitation before Derek responded.

“It’s ok, we’ve established my texting skill leave several things to be desired.”

Stiles really did not like the strong layer of self-deprecation in Derek’s voice. “And **I** thought we’d established that those texts made you one hundred percent awesome in my book. I’m just surprised that you haven’t hung up on me yet.” He forced himself to calm down. “Seriously though, I’ve got tomorrow off, so I just wanted to see if you were interested in getting lunch. Or coffee. Or dinner, or dessert, or an organic goji berry and chia seed smoothie.”

There. Derek laughed at his verbal diarrhea. He was pretty sure he had a lot more experience extracting his foot from his mouth than Derek did. No worries, as long as this call didn’t end in Derek asking Stiles to never contact him again, it was all good.

“As much as I’d like to say yes to all of the above, I think coffee might be the only viable option.”

Stiles wanted to fist-pump. He looked around and, noting he was alone in the park, decided to do it anyway. “Awesome! Want to pencil me in, or just text me when you get a break?”

“I’m going to stay away from texting for now. Safer for all parties involved.”

Stiles made a disappointed sound.

“But I’ll call you tomorrow? I need to sort out my schedule and make sure no meetings get added to my calendar over night.”

Stiles felt his stomach give a happy flip. “Yeah. That sounds awesome.” He smiled and tapped his heel against the grass. “Okay, so, I’ll let you go now. Hey Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Stiles was pretty sure Derek was smiling when he responded, “See you tomorrow, Stiles.”

“See ya tomorrow, Derek.”

Stiles waited for Derek to disconnect before he pulled the phone from his ear. He looked at the screen for a moment before locking it and sliding the device into his pocket. He wondered if it would be too pathetic if he called Lydia for advice on what he should wear tomorrow. To a coffee date. With Derek. He grinned and stood up. He had a date with Derek.

Stiles totally felt justified giving a second fist pump to the empty park.

[END PART 1]


End file.
